


The Boy From Chino

by afictionado



Category: The OC
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afictionado/pseuds/afictionado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 1 AU. </p><p>"He had made a life for himself in Chino. And only once in awhile did his brief stint in Newport cross his mind, seeming like a far-off dream. The people he met once upon a time, were now just figments of his imagination. So he was hardly prepared for one of those figments from that dream-world to come crashing back into his life in full, technicolor reality."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Figments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a way, he was glad that he hadn’t moved to Newport.

*****

In a way, he was glad that he hadn’t moved to Newport. His brief stint there had been like living on another planet. There was so much excess and extravagance. The girls were superficial, the guys were idiotic jocks, and the wives were borderline Stepford. Even his brief incarceration seemed humdrum after his time in Orange County.

Luckily, the Cohens hadn’t pressed charges. Well... Mrs. Cohen, specifically. Kirsten, the Queen of the Manor. After a few days, they released him and to his surprise, his mother had shown up, shedding tears of remorse and calling him her baby. Ryan had been too stunned at the time to ask why she had all but abandoned him just weeks before and suddenly she was ready to play the rescuer.

She had turned over a new leaf. Or so she had said, but Ryan didn’t believe it at the time. She had ditched the abusive boyfriend and, apparently, the alcohol that went along with him.

The first few weeks he lived with her again had been awkward, a little fraught with tension as Ryan kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and Dawn became exasperated by her son’s low expectations. But after awhile, things had smoothed over. They had re-learned how to deal with one another, and were actually able to develop a very amicable relationship.

Dawn worked hard seven days a week, building up her life again. There was the occasional bad influence in the form of a new boyfriend, but those relationships often ended as quickly as they had begun, for which Ryan was thankful. Trey was released from prison a year later and the three of them were a family again.

Once Trey was out, he began to help Dawn form plans to buy the bar she was currently managing. Ryan, only sixteen at the time, had helped with stock and cleanup, but other than that it had been Trey and Dawn’s undertaking. He had been skeptical of his mother owning a bar as a recovering alcoholic, but she never faltered. Never even had a brief backslide into her old habits.

And now at the age of 21, Ryan was the favored bartender. His smile drew in the pretty college girls, his laid-back nature posed no threat to the young men trying to get the attention of the college girls, and his listening skills made him the perfect ear to bend for the older, weathered patrons.

He had made a life for himself in Chino. And only once in awhile did his brief stint in Newport cross his mind, seeming like a far-off dream. The people he met once upon a time, were now just figments of his imagination.

So he was hardly prepared for one of those figments from that dream-world to come crashing back into his life in full, technicolor reality.

“Hey Ry.” His mother beckoned his attention as he was drying some of the glassware.

“Hmm?” He glanced up, slinging the towel over his shoulder, finding Dawn’s eyes focused on something or someone at the other end of the bar.

She gestured with her chin. “I think that lady at the end there has had enough. Can you do the honors this time?”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled patiently. “Of course.”

Dawn hated cutting off a patron’s supply. And, she never enjoyed dealing with surly drunks. So, it often fell to Ryan.

He headed toward the end of the bar, trying to spot the woman his mother had indicated over the sea of faces -- their usual Friday night crowd.

Then he saw her, and time seemed to slow for a moment. That far-off dream was inserting itself into his waking life -- particularly, the one piece of the dream he never could quite forget:

Kirsten Cohen.


	2. Ch. 1: The Blonde at the Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d always thought she was gorgeous, and had an inkling she thought the same of him. Part of him had always wondered if that was her motivation for getting him out of her house.

*****

He was almost in shock, seeing her sitting there at the end of the bar, hunched over a tumbler of scotch. The wife of his former attorney, the woman whose model home he burned down, and the one whose honor he tried to protect in jail, shortly before she refused to see him ever again.

Of all the details of his brief time in Newport, Kirsten had been the hardest to forget. The moment his attorney introduced him to her, he had thought she was beautiful. She had been proper and stand-offish, but the way she looked at him hadn’t escaped him. She was ice on the outside. And only when he nearly collided with her in the kitchen did he see a glimmer of fire underneath. He remembered flirtatious looks exchanged over candlelight, as well as her adamant refusal to let him stay.

He also remembered the look on her face when he took the punches thrown by the cat-calling inmate, and her expression when the guards dragged him back to his cell. She looked shaken to the core. The final time he spoke with Seth, he had been apologetic when he told Ryan that Kirsten wouldn’t let him visit ever again. Along with that had come the silent implication that Kirsten would not be returning, either.

“Ry?”

He startled momentarily, looking back at Dawn. “Huh? Sorry.”

His mother furrowed her eyebrows, looking at him with an air of concern. “Do you... know her from somewhere?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“She doesn’t look like she’s from around here. Where do you know her from?”

He settled his eyes on the blonde at the end of the bar again, murmuring distractedly, “From another life,” as he made his way over to her.

She didn’t look up; she just kept staring down into her glass, one elbow leaned on the bar with the heel of her hand pressed to her temple, just barely holding her head up.

The fingers of her other hand were gripping the glass of scotch tightly. Carefully, Ryan reached out and grasped the glass, their fingers making contact. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” he asked gently.

“Look, kid,” she grumbled, “I think I’ve--”

And then she looked up. He met eyes with her and her growl of protest stopped mid-sentence. Did she remember him? It was obvious she recognized him, but would the haze of alcohol hinder her ability to place him?

“Ryan?”

He smiled, “Hi,” using her distraction to his advantage as he gently pried the glass from her hand and stashed it on the shelf under the bar.

She blinked, her eyes a bleary, dull blue, as she sat up a little straighter and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Uh... uh, what a surprise.”

“I’ll say,” he chuckled, watching her cheeks flush suddenly pink and wondering why.

“What are you doing here?”

She met his eyes and he watched them attempt to swim into focus. A futile effort, it seemed. He leaned against the bar, a little closer, to make it easier on her. “I work here. My mom owns the place.”

One perfectly-shaped brow shot upward. “Really.”

“Yeah.” He leaned back briefly, gesturing to his mother. “Hey Mom, c’mere. Want you to meet somebody.”

Dawn approached as Ryan turned back to Kirsten. He smiled at the sight of her reaching for the glass that was no longer there, then looking around in confusion subsequently, before finally giving up.

“Mom, this is the woman I told you about forever ago. I stayed with her family for a bit in Newport.” He gestured from his mother, to Kirsten. “Dawn Atwood, Kirsten Cohen.”

The women shook hands, meeting eyes briefly before Kirsten ducked hers away and corrected him, “Uh, Nichol. Kirsten Nichol.”

Ryan gave her a glance of confusion at that, but didn’t have time to question it as Dawn greeted her, “So nice to meet you, Kirsten. I... I feel like I owe you a few free drinks for what you did for my boy a few years ago,” she chuckled.

Ryan ducked his head, tipping his eyes upward shyly to meet Kirsten’s.

She quickly averted her gaze, cheeks pinking once more again. “I’m sorry things didn’t really work out.” She gestured to him. “Ryan is a sweet kid.”

Dawn beamed at him, buckets of maternal pride in her expression. “Don’t I know it,” she returned, and ruffled her son’s hair affectionately.

He rolled his eyes. “Aw stop, you’ll make me blush,” and shot his mom a look that she dissolved into chuckles over.

“Well, at any rate...” Dawn reached out and grabbed Kirsten’s tab off the bar, holding it up. “Tonight’s on me.”

The two women bantered back and forth briefly, polite refusals from Kirsten no match for Dawn’s insistence. Finally, Kirsten relented with a grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

Dawn nodded, giving her a quick wink, and then nudged her son. “I’ll let you two get back to catching up.”

Ryan and Kirsten watched her walk off, then turned to each other, each chuckling a bit bashfully and dipping their heads. He looked up to see Kirsten shoving her hair behind her ear again as she murmured, “I really am sorry for what happened... y’know, with the--”

“Model home?” he finished with raised brows, then shook his head. “You did what was best for your family. You were just looking out for them.”

“Yeah, but... in a way, you kinda did me a favor.” Off his look, she smiled. “That model home project would’ve driven me nuts.”

“Ah.” He grinned halfway. “In that case, you’re welcome.”

Kirsten giggled, and the two of them met eyes again. Hers searched him back and forth, still glassy with the haze of alcohol, but a vivid blue. “It’s good to see you again, Ryan,” she said lowly. “You, um...” Her eyes traced over him momentarily and Ryan saw another glimpse of that fire he saw four years ago. “You look good.”

“So do you,” he murmured, trying not to let her see the attraction in his eyes. He’d always thought she was gorgeous, and had an inkling she thought the same of him. Part of him had always wondered if that was her motivation for getting him out of her house.

But he was afforded no more time to ponder that thought as a voice from the doorway suddenly drew their attention.

“Kirsten!”

He followed the blonde’s gaze and saw another Newport figment weaving through the crowd toward the bar, though he couldn’t quite place her.

“Julie?”

Then recognition dawned when Kirsten called to her. Of course - it was Julie Cooper, the Cohens’ neighbor. Ryan vaguely remembered her polished attitude and cold glare.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

Kirsten glanced absently toward her purse. “Must not have heard it ringing.”

Julie assessed her friend. “How much have you had?”

“‘Bout five scotch-and-sodas,” Ryan answered, having gotten a glimpse at the tab when his mother had grabbed it.

That was when Julie acknowledged his presence. “I didn’t ask you,” she snipped.

Kirsten threw her friend a look. “Julie...”

But the brunette ignored her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and grabbing her purse with her free hand. “Come on, Seth wanted me to come and find you. Let’s get you home.”

Ryan watched this play out, wondering if this was a common occurrence. “How’s Seth doing?” he asked of Kirsten.

Julie shot him another look. “How do you know him?”

Kirsten glanced apologetically at Ryan, then gestured between the two of them. “Maybe you don’t remember, Julie, but this is--”

“The boy from Chino,” she murmured, nodding with recognition. Her eyes flicked over him, lip curling derisively. “Right.”

Ryan couldn’t help but narrow his eyes. “Nice to see you too.” An image came to him, then... the girl at the end of the driveway with large eyes and dark blonde hair, and he couldn’t help but comment, “Say hello to Marissa for me.”

Julie seemed to bristle and startle at the same time in answer to that comment, and averted her gaze. She steered her friend sharply to the door and said shortly, “Come on, Kirsten, we’re leaving.”

Ryan just watched them go, wondering what he’d said wrong as Kirsten glanced at him sadly over her shoulder on the way out.

 

*****

“So that was Kirsten, huh?” Dawn asked, counting the money in the register at the end of the night.

Ryan paused in the midst of sweeping up the cocktail peanuts and beer bottle labels littering the floor, leaning briefly on the broom handle. “Yeah, that was her.”

“They sure make ‘em pretty in Newport, don’t they?” she smiled.

Ryan smirked indulgently, assuring her, “Still not as pretty as you, Mom.”

She giggled, chucking a peanut at him and quipping, “I’m not giving you a raise every time you say that.”

Ryan chuckled and continued his sweeping. He felt his mother’s eyes on him but he didn’t look up.

“You’ve mentioned her name before, y’know.”

“When?”

“In your sleep.”

He glanced up, watching her shrug, explaining, “When you used to live with me, I’d hear you through the walls. A lot of times it was gibberish, but on more than one occasion I heard you mention something about a burning house, and the name ‘Kirsten.’”

“Oh.” He carefully swept the debris from the floor into the dustpan, still avoiding his mother’s gaze as he dumped it in the trash can.

“Nightmares?”

“Memories,” he returned, wishing to leave it at that.

Predictably, his mother wouldn’t let it lie. “You know, you never did tell me why you ended up in juvy that second time.”

“You never asked,” he replied simply with a shrug. He stashed the broom and dustpan away in the utility closet, reaching for a rag to clean off the bar.

“I’m asking now, aren’t I?”

He paused in the midst of his cleaning, wondering what would be best and easiest. Telling his mother what had really happened in Newport, including the seemingly-mutual attraction between himself and Kirsten, or just giving a vague and cryptic answer. One was best, the other was easiest.

“It’s kinda complicated.” He opted for the easy route.

Dawn nodded. “Yeah, most stuff in life is, kiddo.” Off his look, she held her hands up in supplication. “But fine... that’s fine. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

She grabbed the bag for the night deposit off the bar near the register and dropped a quick kiss to her son’s cheek. “I’m off. Lock up when you’re done, huh?”

Ryan nodded and watched his mother leave, his hands braced on the bar. When she was gone, he let out his breath, shaking his head and staring at the spot once occupied by the blonde at the end of the bar.


	3. Ch. 2: The Anvils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At times, he hated getting stuck closing up the bar with his mother. As much as he loved her, she was too perceptive. And always ready to ask questions.

*****

Saturday nights at the bar were, if possible, even crazier than Fridays. Ryan rarely got a moment to stand still, much less a moment to converse. He often did double-duty on those nights, not only tending bar but also waiting the handful of tables they had scattered around.

Dawn breezed by and reminded him, “Tell Ernesto to hurry with the onion rings. Table six is getting rowdy.”

“Got it,” he said, already on his way to the kitchen.

Once inside, he took a breath, grabbing another crate of glasses. Glancing over at the pair of cooks, he spotted them craning their necks, trying to see over the serving counter.

“Hey!” he shouted, getting their attention. “Back to work, guys, come on! It’s nuts out there.” He gestured to the fryer. “Ernesto, come on and get those rings goin’ - table six has been waiting for fifteen minutes now.”

“Sorry mi amigo,” Ernesto apologized, then gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, toward the place they’d just been looking. “Pretty lady at the bar! Me and Vince ain’t seen a woman like that in here before.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and followed where the cook was pointing, spotting the head of shiny blonde hair immediately. His jaw went a bit slack without his conscious consent. “Kirsten.”

“Ah so you know the pretty lady.” Ernesto grinned. “How about I get those rings done real quick if you go give her my phone number?”

Ryan just smirked, rolling his eyes once more. “Nah, you’ll just break her heart.”

Ernesto grumbled a few phrases in Spanish, but Ryan just chuckled and continued hassling him for the overdue food. When he had caught up on his orders and cleaning up the tables that had vacated, he headed back to the bar.

“Hey Ry, your friend from Newport’s back,” his mother told him.

“Saw her,” he answered, ignoring the curious look she gave him as he headed right toward where Kirsten sat, again at the end of the bar.

She was downing a vodka tonic, tipping her head back to get the last few drops in the glass as Ryan leaned on the bar. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” he greeted, startling her slightly.

“Ryan, hi!” She blushed momentarily, and again Ryan was left wondering why she did that in his presence. “I, uh... I felt bad that we didn’t really get much time to catch up yesterday. Julie pulled me out of here so quickly...”

He waved away the apology. “It’s okay, I understand.”

Kirsten shrugged. “Julie, she just--”

“Hasn’t changed much, from what I can tell,” he finished with a wry half-grin.

“Yeah.” Smiling, she ducked her head and pushed a slice of hair behind her ear. After a beat, she tilted her head and added, “In some ways she hasn’t, I suppose.”

Ryan leaned his forearms on the bar, frowning thoughtfully. “She got kinda weird though when I told her to say to Marissa. I mean, I know she never liked me, but she at least could’ve offered to--”

“Marissa’s dead,” Kirsten broke in, her voice soft, but heard clearly over the crowd.

He let that sink in for a moment. “What?”

“Yeah. As you can imagine, she doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

Still momentarily stunned by the news he’d been presented with, Ryan leaned back, trying to get his mother’s attention. Briefly, he gestured that they’d be at a nearby table and she nodded, her eyes following them as they sat down at a booth in the far corner of the bar.

“What happened?”

“She, um... overdosed.”

He cringed, and Kirsten nodded in response.

“On a handful of sleeping pills and a bottle of tequila.”

His stomach turned. “So she--”

“Yeah.” Kirsten pressed her lips together, eyes on the surface of the table, almost as if she were seeing through it. “Julie and I were at a spin class when she got the call.” She shook her head. “Worst thing I’ve ever been through, and it wasn’t even happening to me. I... can’t imagine what it was like for Julie.”

“And Seth? How’s he taking it?”

She shrugged. “Good as he can, I suppose. I mean, they weren’t best friends or anything, but he’s known Marissa since he was little.” Smiling softly, she looked at the table as she seemingly recalled a memory. “They used to build sandcastles together when the four of us adults wanted some time to relax on the beach.”

Ryan nodded, getting an image of a curly-haired little boy and a little blonde girl playing together in the sand. Then, inevitably, his thoughts drifted to a bikini-clad Kirsten, lounging in the sun, and he was forced to snap himself out of it.

“Anyway, she... she’s in a better place now. She’d been having kind of a rough time with her parents getting divorced, and her dad’s financial troubles. It’s just a shame that that was how she chose to cope.”

**

Ryan spent the next couple hours in that booth with Kirsten, in between helping out behind the bar and getting food out to the other tables. He told her about his mother; how she had come to retrieve him from juvy and exerted a monumental effort to get her life together. He told her about Trey and his idea to buy the bar; how lucrative a decision for their family it had been.

And she told him about all the drama of Newport: Marissa’s death and then her father’s. Seth’s relationship with a girl from the East coast named Anna, and Julie’s affair with Luke. There was one question still unanswered, however...

“Tell me something, Kirsten,” he said, handing her another vodka tonic as he slid into the booth again.

“Hmm.” She took a long drink, and Ryan watched the motion but said nothing.

He just studied her, watched the way one long, graceful finger dipped into the glass, swirling the ice cubes before she brought it to her lips. “Why aren’t you a Cohen anymore?”

Her shrug was full of nonchalance, but the averted gaze clued him in to the pain in her eyes. They bounced around the bar, looking at everything but him, as she replied flippantly, “Sandy didn’t want me to be one anymore.”

That floored Ryan momentarily. It hardly seemed accurate, from what he remembered of his brief time with the Cohens. Even when his lawyer had first been introducing him to his wife, he looked completely infatuated. It didn’t add up. “But--”

“Sandy gave me a choice,” she told him, a bit cryptically. “It was either him or my ‘bad habit.’” She raised her glass for emphasis and a few of the pieces came together. “I chose wrong.”

He watched her take another long drink of her vodka tonic, watching the ease with which she drank. He watched her hand and spotted the slight tremor, before he lifted his gaze to her glassy eyes. The behavior was easy enough to recognize. “You’re an alcoholic.”

Her eyes snapped to his, the look in them hardening for just a moment before she blinked it away and feigned a smile. “I prefer the term ‘cocktail enthusiast.’”

“Kirsten...”

“Look, I’ve got it under control, okay? It’s a lot better than it used to be.”

Ryan’s brows flew upward momentarily as he wondered how bad it used to be if this was an improvement: drinking alone at a bar miles away from Newport. “Is that why you’re drinking so far from home?” he couldn’t help but press. “Is that why your son had to send your friend to come and literally drag you out of the bar yesterday?”

Her eyes flashed with anger again and she downed the rest of her vodka tonic quickly, standing up on unsteady legs. “Y’know what, I didn’t come here to be harassed. I’m leaving.”

He closed his eyes regretfully and reached out to grab her wrist. “Kirsten, wait.”

But she wrenched her arm from his grasp, threw enough money on the table to cover her tab and then some, before she took off in a huff. He watched his mother’s eyes follow Kirsten out of the bar before they met his own, questioning.

He just shook his head and looked away, internally punching himself for his stupidity.

**

“What was all that about?”

Ryan sighed, studiously filling out their deposit slip for the end of the night. “Nothing, Mom.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

At times, he hated getting stuck closing up the bar with his mother. As much as he loved her, she was too perceptive. And always ready to ask questions. “Kirsten just... dropped by to apologize for the way she left last night.”

He watched his mother cleaning off the bar, raising her eyebrows. “If possible, she made an even bigger exit tonight.”

“It was nothing.”

“Ryan--”

“Mom, just drop it.”

And, as she often did, Dawn ended her line of questioning by raising her hands in surrender and saying, “Fine, fine.”

But this time, it broke him down. He huffed and tossed the pen down, slamming the cash drawer closed. “I accused her of being an alcoholic.”

And Dawn’s tone was all sadness as she commented, “You didn’t.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I did. And it was stupid, and I don’t know why I did it, I just...” He met his mother’s eyes. “I know the pattern when I see it. And I don’t want her to go through what...” He trailed off, shaking his head and ducking it as he folded his arms.

Dawn finished the thought. “What I went through.”

Ryan just looked away, jaw clenched.

She studied her son, saw the hardness in his eyes and recognized it as his defense system. She reached out, grasping his shoulder. “Kiddo... I’m okay. I came out the other side just fine.”

“I know,” he muttered, his jaw still tense as he braced his hands on the curve of the bar. “But watching you go through that was the hardest thing _I’ve_ ever gone through. I don’t want that to happen again.” He shook his head lightly again, voice barely audible as he dipped his head again and murmured, “Not to her.”

He missed the look of confusion on his mother’s face at that last comment, but she didn’t question him about it. It had been a loaded statement, one that most certainly would need clarification... but she didn’t press. Instead, she just took a few steps forward, leaning on the bar as she tried to recapture his gaze. “Then is it alright if I offer up some advice, free of charge?”

Ryan looked up, lips pressed together tightly as he nodded.

Dawn placed a hand to her chest. “As someone that’s been through that ordeal, I’ll tell you the thing that really makes you want to change is the genuine concern from people you love.” She shrugged. “If you just come at it from an angle of, ‘This behavior is bad and it needs to change,’ that’s not gonna do anything. What will really help Kirsten is seeing how much the people she loves want her to get better.”

“That already happened. Her own husband wanted her to choose between him and the booze, and she chose the booze.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Ultimatums aren’t a great way to go either. Here...”

Then she slid a wad of money toward him. Ryan placed his hand over it and looked up, searching his mother’s eyes.

“She left way too much money for her tab earlier. As much as I’d love to keep it all, it just doesn’t seem right.” She gave him a meaningful look. “Think you could get it back to her?”

Ryan picked up on her subtle-as-anvils hint; he nodded, pocketing the spare cash. “Sure, I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re a good man, Ryan.” She smiled, a bit proudly. “I must’ve done something right.”

And he chuckled, “You sure did,” as he silently resolved that in the morning, he would have to return to Newport.


	4. Ch. 3: The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd been in Seth's place before, had felt the same frustration. He didn't know what else he could say that wouldn't come across as overly-sage or trite.

*****

Ryan drove in silence for the hour-long trek to Newport. None of the stations seemed to play anything good anymore, and NPR always made him feel like taking a nap at the wheel. So instead, he opted for silence.

But after awhile with his thoughts, he almost would have preferred the crappy pop music or boring talk-radio shows. He’d done nothing but think about Kirsten... about his brief time with her... and it got his stomach churning.

The smile on her face when they first met five years ago and the way she had tightly clasped her hands in front of her almost nervously. How angry she’d been when she had seen the bruises on his face and her son’s the morning after that party, not to mention the way she held herself away from him physically in the kitchen when he was first asked to leave.

_”It’s nothing personal.”_

Of course it had been personal. He was shaking up her pristine life and she didn’t want to let him in. And then when Sandy had to bring him back... when his mother had actually abandoned him... she had tried to hide her irritation and failed. Ryan had seen the look in her eyes.

Whenever they were in proximity, she wrung her hands nervously. Her eyes would flit to him cautiously, as if he would pounce on her at any moment. Or maybe it was the other way around.

There was, of course, that near-miss collision his final night in the Cohen house. The energy that swirled around him had made him dizzy, thrown him off momentarily, and it had shown in his face. He knew it had. Luckily, Kirsten had been just as easy to read. They had thrown uneasy glances at one another while she had gone to the fridge. The banter between them had been awkward and laced with... something... before they sat down to eat.

Then there was the look. He remembered it well. Sandy and Seth had been teasing her about her cooking abilities -- or from the sounds of it, the lack thereof -- and Ryan had been unable to help his amusement. His eyes moved from them to her, and that was when she looked up at him through her lashes, pure flirtation in her expression with only a lit candle separating them.

The duration of that dinner had made things all the more confusing for him. Once in awhile, his foot would accidentally bump Kirsten’s. The first time it happened, she had gasped loudly, garnering the attention of the Cohen men. Ryan had silently mouthed an apology as he watched her explain away that she thought she had seen a spider.

When it happened again, she shot him another look through her lashes. The third time was purposeful to get her reaction, and that time she had thrown a soft, but stern glare at him. He had resigned himself then, deeming her impossible to read.

The last words he had said to Kirsten before the model home fiasco were in regards to the scale model she had built and left sitting on the counter.

_”Good luck with it. It looks perfect.”_

He had meant every syllable, and could tell that Kirsten picked up as much just by the sad look in her eyes. But that had been it. Not long after that, everything had quite literally gone up in flames, and the NBPD were carting him off to the juvenile detention center.

Now here he was again, entering the gated community he had been a brief part of so long ago, winding down the road toward the end of the cul de sac where the Cohen manor loomed. He glimpsed at the edge of the Cooper driveway, almost able to see a ghost of Marissa standing there.

Then he pulled up the steep drive of the Cohens and threw the car in park, grabbing the envelope of cash out of the glove box as he climbed out of the car. He shielded his eyes against the midday sun as he stared up at the familiar stucco and Mexican roof tiles, and then he steeled himself as he stepped up and rang the bell.

An answer didn't come quickly... or at all. He spotted the heavy wrought-iron knocker and tried that, though he knew in the back of his mind the bell should have been loud enough. Again, nothing.

He blew a puff of air through his lips and threw a glance down at the envelope, as if accusing it for leading him here. Then, he turned and began to head down the front stairs.

That was when he heard a voice. A voice five years in his past, calling out, "Coming! Hang on a sec, sorry!" and he wheeled around just as the door opened and a mop of dark brown curls appeared.

He raised his brows. "Seth?"

It was the Cohen boy in the flesh. The gawky, awkward kid who momentarily seemed to hero-worship him. The gawky, awkward kid who was now a gawky, awkward man, gaping at him from the front door.

"Ryan?"

Another glance fell to the envelope at his side and Ryan had no idea where to start. _"So, funny story..."_ or _"I know it's been five years, but..."_

He finally settled on, "Uh..."

"How the hell are you, man?!" Seth took him by surprise by stepping outside and reaching out for a handshake, which quickly became a hug. It reminded Ryan very much of the first time he left the Cohen home. Minus Seth's black eye.

"I'm good," he chuckled, patting Seth's back before he stepped away. "I know this is weird, but--"

"Why do you have a huge envelope of money with you?"

"Uh, that's actually why I'm here." He held it out to him. "Kirsten, she--"

That's when Seth caught the label on the envelope with the bar's name and address. "Oh."

He watched a series of expressions cross Seth's face -- realization, disappointment, and some faint anger. He didn't know what else to say to it, so he replied, "Yeah."

Seth sighed. "Didn't know, uh... didn't know you frequented 'Sunrise.'"

Ryan gave a sympathetic half-frown, familiar with the thoughts probably churning through Seth's head at the moment. "Yeah, I work there. It's my mom's place."

At that, Seth lifted his gaze. "It is?"

"Yeah."

"I thought, when we met, you said she was--"

"Yeah, she was. She, uh... she got help."

"Oh. Good for her." Seth glanced back into the house and again Ryan could read his mind; could practically hear the wish creeping its way into the silence. "Other people aren't quite as ambitious."

"Is she here?"

"Yeah. Sleeping." After a moment, he shrugged and amended, "Or, well... passed out is more like it."

Ryan quirked a brow, folding his arms. "How's she doing?"

He shrugged again, gesturing to him. "You've clearly seen her. Take a guess."

He nodded. "Yeah. When I, uh... when I went to introduce her to my mom and she mentioned her name was no longer Cohen, I kinda figured maybe things weren't going real great."

"Yeah, well," Seth glanced down, voice softening. "It's of her own making." After a moment, he glanced up. He shrugged and told him, "We tried. My dad tried to talk to her on his own and it didn't help. I tried talking to her and it didn't help." Chuckling mirthlessly, he added, "Hell, we had _two_ interventions and it didn't make a difference. Nothing got through to her. She didn't think it was a problem. Probably still doesn't."

Ryan looked down at the ground. "So your parents split."

Seth nodded. "Yeah. My dad just couldn't take it anymore. I mean, they had already been having their ups and downs before this, but when he made her choose, she chose the liquor."

"Right."

Narrowing his eyes a bit, Seth asked, "She told you?"

Ryan nodded. Granted, Kirsten hadn't been quite as nonchalant as her son, but the point was still made. "She said she chose wrong."

Seth huffed, planting his hands on his hips. "Right, yeah. Pity that knowing she made the wrong choice didn't make her wanna change at all."

Ryan swallowed. "I don't know that it's that easy." Off Seth's look, he shrugged. "I mean... I watched my mom struggle with this all my life. When she finally did decide to get help, it wasn't a quick fix. And... even though she probably would never admit it, I think occasionally owning the bar is tough on her. Because of the addiction."

"I just don't get what else it would take to make her wanna change. I mean, if me and my dad aren't good enough reasons--"

"She has to want it too, though. Trust me."

Seth nodded. "I guess in that case, I shouldn't hold my breath." He looked down at the envelope again and thumbed through the cash.

Ryan just watched, contemplating saying something else but falling short on what else could be said. He'd been in Seth's place before, had felt the same frustration. He didn't know what else he could say that wouldn't come across as overly-sage or trite.

All he could think to say was, "She'll come around."

"Yeah. Maybe." Seth didn't sound convinced. He held up the envelope and raised a brow. "Thanks for bringing this all the way out here. You probably could've just hung onto it."

Ryan shook his head. "Would've have felt right about it."

Seth shrugged. "Well, or you could've given it back next time she comes by." Ruefully, he sighed and turned toward the house. "She'll be back. I'm sure of it."

 

*****

Those were the last words Seth said to him before they parted ways again. He had taken the money into the house and Ryan had gone back down the driveway to his car, spending the trip back in silence yet again. His interaction with Seth stayed with him longer after he returned home.

_"We had two interventions and it didn't make a difference. Nothing got through to her."_

A week after that, Ryan continued to play the conversation over and over in his head. And though Seth sounded positive that Kirsten would return to Sunrise, Ryan had yet to lay eyes on her. He was beginning to think that maybe she _had_ had a change of heart.

It had been nearly two weeks by the time he heard his mother telling him, "Kirsten's here."

He was in the kitchen, chatting with Ernesto and a couple of the cooks. But those two words were enough to get him to drop the conversation and push his way through the swinging doors.

When he met eyes with her, she straightened up and gave him a smile, along with a small wave. He couldn't help but return the smile, noting how lively she seemed.

"I was beginning to think I'd seen the last of you," he teased, slipping behind the bar and leaning on the mahogany surface.

Kirsten chuckled and folded her arms on the bar top, leaning toward him. A twinkle lit her eyes as she tilted her head, and if Ryan didn't know better he'd think it was flirtation. "Eager to get rid of me?"

"Not in the slightest." He was pretty positive his tone was heavy with flirtation but was powerless to stop it. "It's always good to see you." The way they parted nearly two weeks prior came back to him, and he ducked his head. "Kirsten, I'm--"

"I'm sorry," she broke in, drawing his gaze back up to hers. Her hand reached out and clasped his wrist. "I shouldn't have stormed off the way I did last time, it was childish."

His brows flicked upward, eyes cemented on where her touch lingered, singeing his nerve endings. "Uh... actually, I'm the one who should apologize. For saying what I said to you." After a moment's hesitation, he covered her hand with his, another shock riddling his system. "I was way outta line."

"But not exactly far off the mark." Her eyes too drifted to where they touched, and when they met his again he saw another glimmer of that fire he'd seen so many years ago.

It momentarily took his breath away. And he didn't know how to follow-up her remark, so he just raised his eyebrows and asked, "Will you stick around?"

Her slow blink and smile was enough to keep his heart soaring, and she murmured, "Of course."

**

For the rest of the evening, he volleyed between serving customers and chatting with Kirsten. He made sure to steer clear of any mention of her 'bad habit,' and instead updated her a bit on what he'd been up to aside from his family life.

"Valedictorian?" she repeated with a surprised look.

He grinned and held out his arms. "What can I say? I was never big into parties, and Chino is filled with partiers. Wasn't hard to grab the valedictorian spot." Off her look, he chuckled. "Trust me, Kirsten, it's way less impressive than it sounds. My only competition was a stoner who was way too into Doctor Who."

Kirsten laughed, though she wagged a finger playfully and told him, "Hey, don't knock Doctor Who. Especially 'classic Who,' my father watched that all the time on PBS. Tom Baker was his favorite."

Now it was Ryan's turn to act surprised. "Wait a minute, am I hearing that correctly? You're a _nerd_?"

She giggled -- downright giggled -- and shoved his shoulder half-heartedly. "Oh hush. I was merely unable to escape my father's unrelenting PBS viewing from time to time."

He rolled his eyes and grinned. "Uh-huh..."

**

The rest of the night passed quickly -- and unbeknownst to Ryan, Kirsten's drinks piled up just as quickly. By the time they had hit 'last call,' she was nearly seven drinks deep, and past 'impaired' territory. Ryan had been careful not to say anything this time, though as he watched her struggle to keep her head up, he began to regret that decision.

"How come you let her have so much?" he grumbled to his mother, watching her nudge one of their regulars who was napping (passed out) on the bartop.

She gave him a look - part confusion, part defensive. "What are you getting pissy with me for? You're the one that's been gabbing with her all night."

He sighed. "You know that she's got a problem. You're the owner, you should've..." He trailed off, at a loss for a solution before he finally shrugged and said, "Cut her off at some point."

Dawn tilted her head at her son. A beat passed in which she glanced to the barely-conscious Kirsten, then to her son, and back again. "Look, kid. I get that you've got some... unresolved something with this woman."

Before Ryan could open his mouth, she held up a hand.

"I'm not asking," she clarified, "And I don't need to know. But whatever it is, you've gotta understand... she's a grown woman." With a wry half-smirk, she added, "If I cut off every patron's supply because I thought they had an alcohol issue, our doors would've closed here years ago."

Ryan couldn't help but return the smirk at that. "Yeah. I know. But..." He trailed off again, turning over his shoulder to watch Kirsten drain the last of her seventh (or maybe even eighth) drink. He turned back to his mother to find her smiling at him, one hand leaning on the bar while the other rested on her hip.

"But she's special," she offered.

Defeat was in his tone as he replied, "Yeah," and folded his arms.

The ding of their cash register tore his eyes away from Kirsten a moment later, and he gave a confused look to Dawn as she handed him some money.

"Then get her home safe in a cab. It's on me."

And he sighed, glancing over at Kirsten one more time.


	5. Chapter 4: The Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was leaning on him heavily, was practically a limp rag doll in his arms. He glimpsed down at her to find her searching his face, and for just a moment he felt as if time slowed; he forgot where he was. He forgot the watchful eye of his mother, forgot the circumstances surrounding his current position.

*****

Ryan carefully folded the cash his mother handed him and stashed it in his back pocket, resigning himself to the role of Kirsten's guardian for the remainder of the evening.

He could easily just put her in a cab with the money and bid her goodnight, but he knew that was not an option. Not with her. Not with an hour between the bar and her home, when she could easily succumb to car sickness. And then, what? She'd be stuck with an irate or even furious cab driver, and liable for any cleaning costs?

He could also use Kirsten's phone to call Julie or Seth. But somehow that wasn't an option either. He wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to see Julie again, nor did he want to involve Seth in this anymore than he already was.

The more rational but wry side of his brain kicked in and told him that he could justify it however he wanted - the truth was, _he_ wanted to make sure that Kirsten was settled in before he left her to her own devices.

So he sighed; he squared his shoulders and made his way over to the end of the bar, leaning an elbow on it as he bent slightly in an attempt to capture her gaze. A hand reached out, just barely touching the middle of her back. "Kirsten?"

Her response was slow. He kicked himself again for not being more vigilant over her consumption, even with that rational side reminding him that it wasn't his duty.

Her blue eyes swam back into focus, still bleary but a bit more aware. Her lips parted in a smile, and she looked as happy to see him then as she did at the start of the evening. "Hi."

"Hey," he chuckled slightly, allowing his hand to land fully on her back. He watched her visibly jump at the touch, though she didn't move away. If anything, it almost felt as though she leaned into him, just slightly. "What do you think about calling it a night?"

"What time is it?" she slurred, turning her right wrist to check a watch that wasn't there. She frowned and let her hand fall heavily into her lap.

"About two," he told her. "We gotta close up shop."

Kirsten looked around, almost in confusion, and peered down into her empty glass as she asked him in a soft voice, "How many have I had?"

And he replied in an equally tender voice, "I don't know. A lot, I think."

"Oh..." Her head dipped and for a moment Ryan feared she lost her battle with consciousness, until it came up again and he saw the remorse in her expression. "Ryan, I'm so--"

He cut her off with a shake of his head. "Don't worry about it. Here..." He reached for her hand and grasped it, putting light pressure on it as he asked her, "Can you stand?"

"I think so."

She tightened her hand around his and he gripped her upper arm to help steady her as she rose on wobbly legs. All at once, the number of drinks she'd had hit her and she swayed forward. Ryan caught her by the waist just before she toppled over.

"Whoa, careful." He chuckled uneasily as he tried to brace her, avoiding her gaze as he felt her craning her neck, staring up at him.

He knew that his mother, too, was watching him since this interaction began; and so began the valiant effort to look as though none of this troubled him at all. Not having an arm around Kirsten's waist, not having her face inches away peering up at him, nor having her alcohol-tainted breath on his face. This was all just... fine and dandy.

"Easy, easy."

Another stumble and he seemed to have helped Kirsten find her footing. She was leaning on him heavily, was practically a limp rag doll in his arms. He glimpsed down at her to find her searching his face, and for just a moment he felt as if time slowed; he forgot where he was. He forgot the watchful eye of his mother, forgot the circumstances surrounding his current position.

His hand reached up of its own volition, noting the unkempt nature of her hair and badly wanting to smooth it down. Mere inches from touching the messy waves at the crown of her head, though, he stopped himself. His hand dropped back to his side and time started to tick away once more.

Ryan came back to himself then and almost cursed at his stupidity. And he made damn sure not to meet Dawn's eyes or he'd give everything away. Instead, he cleared his throat. He gripped Kirsten firmly by the upper arms and made himself take a step back, asking, "You okay now?"

And something in Kirsten had shifted too. Her eyes were still bleary, breath still heavy with alcohol, gait unsteady. But something in her expression had changed. After a beat or two, she nodded. "Yeah, I-I think so."

He nodded back, "Good," and averted his gaze. "We should get you home."

"Yeah, probably a good idea."

"Where are your keys?"

"Why?"

"I'm gonna drive you back to Newport."

"But--"

"I've got cab fare to get myself home," he told her, side-eying his mother, who suddenly feigned interest in the deposit slip.

To Kirsten, he held out a hand expectantly, voice a bit more firm. "C'mon. Keys."

Without another word, she handed them over, and managed to sling her purse over her shoulder as he escorted her out. As they left, he asked his mother, "You alright locking up by yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She met his eyes and what he saw there gave him a sense of foreboding. Something clicked. That was confirmed when she added, "I'll see you in the morning, kid. We'll talk then."

Ryan inwardly cursed himself again for the moment of vulnerability and grit his teeth. "Great," he lied, and continued leading a very unsteady Kirsten to the door.

Once outside, he felt her eyes on him again and he clenched his jaw. He wouldn't make the same mistake he made in front of his mother. This was just about getting her home safely.

Using her key fob, he unlocked her SUV and opened the passenger side door for her. "Do you need anything before we hit the road?" he asked. "Some water? Maybe a... bucket?" He winced.

Kirsten smiled, swaying on her feet before she climbed in as she told him, "No bucket needed. And I always keep a bottle of water in the car."

"Alright."

He waited until she was buckled in before shutting the door, and he took the long way around the car, using the extra few seconds to collect himself.

An hour car ride with an inebriated Kirsten, when he'd already let his defenses down enough to show some affection. Yeah, this had "success" written all over it.

**

Luckily, he had fared better than he originally thought. Kirsten ended up falling asleep on the drive back to Newport, and Ryan was able to escape any potential awkwardness or questions stirred by their brief moment back at Sunrise. He listened to a repeat of some sort of NPR game show just for the distraction, though his eyes strayed to the blonde in the passenger seat every few minutes of the ride.

Back at the Cohen manor, all the lights were dark when Ryan reached the top of the driveway. Once the SUV was parked, he pocketed the keys as he went around to get Kirsten. Upon opening the passenger side door and noting she hadn't stirred, he shook her shoulder gently.

"Kirsten..."

She didn't move. Same when he tried again, and then a third time. He planted his fists on his hips briefly, sighing heavily as he wondered if he would need to carry her into the house.

He leaned into the car and reached for the latch on her seatbelt, unbuckling her. He was just about to lift her up when her eyes flew open and met his.

"Ryan..."

Her hand came out and cupped his face, her limbs still limp from the amount of alcohol in her system. His nerve endings snapped to attention under her touch, and he tried for a friendly smile as he told her, "Hey, you're home."

"I am?" She lifted her head off the back of the seat and looked around, as if needing to adjust to her surroundings.

Her hand slipped from his face then and he caught it within his own as it fell. "Yeah, you are. Can you walk?" he asked, and as his thumb skated across her knuckles her gaze snapped back to his.

He tried to ignore the sharply drawn breath he heard from the blonde and gave her hand a squeeze, inciting her to climb out of the car.

"Easy, easy..." He repeated his line from earlier as he braced her, allowing her to grip his hand as he led her to the wrought-iron front door.

"You know I've been this drunk before," she told him, leaning against one of the heavy stone columns at the front of the house. "I know how to get myself inside."

"Maybe, but I just want to make sure." He held up the keys, dangling them in front of her. "Which one gets us inside, by the way?"

Kirsten smirked and snatched them from his hand. He watched her attempt to concentrate on the keys in her hand, wondering if the furrowed brow was an attempt to see only one set of them rather than two or three.

Once it was located, she held it up between two fingers and told him, "Here."

With a nod, he took them from her again and unlocked the door, swinging it open before holding out a hand. "C'mon."

She shot him a look that once again told him she could handle herself; but not two seconds later, she was grimacing and nearly green as she breathed, "Oh no..."

And then all at once she was rushing off into the darkness of the house and Ryan was following after her, concerned with the look on her face. Moonlight cast large blocks of light down what was clearly the hallway to her bedroom. Inside, he found her in the attached bathroom, emptying her stomach into the toilet.

Ryan grimaced, leaning one shoulder on the door frame as he listened to Kirsten's retching. He plucked a couple of tissues from the box on the sink as she spit the last vestiges of her illness into the bowl. As she began to straighten, he went to her side holding out the tissues. "You okay?" he asked reflexively.

"Yeah," she muttered, her voice a bit strained as she took the tissues from him. With one, she wiped her mouth, and used the other to blow her nose. Both were then wadded up and tossed into the nearby wastebasket. "Much better."

He couldn't help the face he made, and hoped it was dark enough that Kirsten wouldn't see. "It is?"

"Yeah," she chuckled, and her shoulder ghosted against his as she moved past him, back into her bedroom. "I'd much rather do that than deal with nausea." At the foot of the bed, she turned to him, and he caught her arched brow in the light of the moon coming through the french doors. "Y'ever been nauseated?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "It's, uh... pretty unpleasant."

She nodded back, with a half-smile. "Exactly."

Ryan watched her toe off her shoes, flicking his eyes back to hers when she continued.

"I'd rather deal with a minute's-worth of puking than an hour's-worth of nausea."

He shrugged facially, folding his arms. "Guess you've got a point."

"Besides," she chuckled, leaning over to brace herself on the hope chest at the foot of her bed - one shoe was being particularly stubborn, and she clearly didn't have the equilibrium at this point to deal with it gracefully. "Not like I haven't done this before."

Again, Ryan fought not to mention her habits. Instead, he landed on a simple, "Right."

She met his eyes, and for a moment neither of them said anything. He half wondered if Kirsten was waiting for him to make another accusation, but he remained quiet, just watching her from the bathroom doorway.

After a moment, she ducked her head, and his eyes followed the movement of her graceful fingers, tucking hair behind her ear. "Thank you for bringing me home," she murmured. "You certainly didn't have to."

"Yeah I did," he said softly, and almost surprised himself with how tender the words sounded.

It surprised Kirsten as well. Her head snapped up and she stared, looking more sober than he'd seen her look all night. Another beat of silence passed before she asked, almost cautiously, "You did?"

He nodded. Then, fearing she couldn't see him in the shadows, he took a few steps forward, his arms still folded across his chest. "Kirsten, whether you believe me or not, I want you to know that I..." He bit back a thousand unspoken words and finished, "I care about you." He met her eyes and confessed, "I always have."

Her drawn breath was audible in the suddenly too-quiet room. He wasn't sure if the reaction was positive or negative, so he kept plowing forward. "When I first met you, I cared. When you threw me out of your house, I cared. When I came back and then burned down your model home - hell, even when you came to visit me in jail and then refused to see me again - I cared. I barely knew you, you barely knew me, and still I haven't stopped caring about you."

Kirsten stood, slowly, and Ryan was unable to move as she came toward him. "Even with my... issues?" She crooked a brow that said everything.

He nodded. "Especially with that. I... want to help you. If you want help. And if you don't, I'll still care about you."

She was close now - so incredibly, wonderfully, dangerously close. He wondered what he'd just gotten himself into when she stretched up on her toes and planted a kiss on him - on his cheek, but not exactly far from his lips.

When she pulled back, she smiled and laid a hand on his cheek. "Thank you, Ryan."

He returned the smile and forced himself not to touch her hand. "You're welcome." He then nodded toward her bed. "Get some sleep, now. I should head home."

"How will you--"

He reached into his pocket, pulling up the wad of cash his mother had given him. "I have cab fare, remember?"

"Oh. Right."

He made himself take a step back - back toward the hallway, back toward safety. "So I'll, uh... I'll see you..." He didn't want to say 'tomorrow' or 'next week' and make it seem like an expectation. So instead, he awkwardly finished with, "Next time?"

If it came across as awkward or nervous, Kirsten didn't let on to it. She smiled and repeated, "Next time."

Then when she moved toward her bed, Ryan turned on his heel and headed back down the hallway, back to the front door and then out into the crisp night air. He inhaled deeply to center himself and slow his heartbeat.

Being that close to Kirsten, that open with her, was dangerous.

But as he reached for his phone to call a cab, he knew that was nothing compared to the dangerous conversation he knew he'd have to have in the morning with his mother.


End file.
